The Black Holes of Earth

Scream, hard as you can – they can’t hear you.

Cry all of your tears – they won’t see you.

Fight with all of your might – it won’t touch them.

The war is inside, the turbulent turmoil, turning,

Over, and over, and over, and over,

Bubbling, boiling, bristling, burning –

Until you can’t take it anymore.

Then you take some more.

Another minute. Another hour. Another day.

Endless rage, toppling in on itself, twisting, squirming, writhing.

Crawling up your throat, your lungs, suffocating.

Squeezing, pressing painfully around limbs – squishing you into a tight ball.

People wish they could crawl into a hole and cry. Or die.

Pity we, the black holes of Earth, pent up,

condensed so much that the very fabric of reality crushes about us.

The infinity of reality passes by – agonizingly slowly.

I can’t stand it any longer.

But I do.

Festering, shrieking, dying a small part each day –

But I’m not, am I? Because I’m still breathing. Just.

Frozen in a state of perpetual death, unceasing, relentless.

Trapped in a never-ending prison,

Tormented by the sound of my own insanity,

my own misery, my own tragedy.

Please end this brutality, this totality.

Set me free to fly, weightless, unhindered towards the stars.

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